


Flashes

by FroldGapp



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Blade of Marmora Keith (Voltron), Cats, Comedy, Cooking, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Episode: s02e08 The Blade of Marmora, Galaxy Garrison, Galra Keith (Voltron), Hurt Keith (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Whump, Kova - Freeform, Krolia, Lazy - Freeform, M/M, Post-Season/Series 06, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Romantic Comedy, Romantic Fluff, SHEITH - Freeform, Space Wolf - Freeform, Sundays, Veterinary Clinic, sleeping Keith, space mice - Freeform, vet au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-01
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-04-16 19:35:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 7,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FroldGapp/pseuds/FroldGapp
Summary: Collection of drabbles and one-shots from tumblr.First up: Cats don't make for good cooking companions. (Sheith domestic fluff)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I keep spitting out little drabbles on tumblr. I shall collect them here!
> 
> British EN so ' and not ", etc.
> 
> Get at me: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Shiro, as per Sunday ritual, was awoken by hushed caws from the kitchen of _Down! Down! Down, you stupi–argh!_

He made a vague attempt to roll himself back under the warm weight of thickly woven blankets, but alas, Pete’s high-pitched yowling had already kicked off.

Much like Keith, Pete the Cat (or Pe-Lo as Lance called him on his frequent visits), had a very tenuous relationship with authority of any kind: Shiro representing the sole exception. He puked in shoes, tore at jackets, and dragged dinner plates off tables by ripping at placemats with needle-like teeth. But, with Shiro, he was a big-eyed, bashful kitten. How Keith and Pete intersected was still to be established; there was something of a turf war underway since they’d adopted the little fury. Keith called it usurpation, Shiro called it Keith vs Lance Part Deux.

Probably time to intervene. With a grunt, Shiro sat up and tipped himself out of bed. Besides, he realised with a devious chuckle, there was also the smell of _bacon_.

 

Ablutions taken care of, Shiro entered the kitchen to find Keith dancing in circles with a bowl clutched in his arms.

‘Shiro! Tell Pete to quit–hurgh!– quit it!’ he said, narrowly avoiding the sleek black cat’s acrobatics to get at the bowl. Milk sloshed over the side and onto the dark grey tiles. Keith growled in frustration and spun away again from a particularly energetic leap by Pete.

Wet from spillage, the bowl lost traction and slipped free. It bounced off the countertop and fell to the floor. It did not smash, because since Pete, they were now living a life dining on plastic.

Pete meowed happily, as though he had _nothing_ to do with the event, and cantered over to the milk and cereal. He began lapping up the contents with a satisfied curl at the end of his tail.

Shiro, who–it must be said–was only human, snorted so loudly, Pete startled. He forthwith folded himself in two and sputtered into his knees. Every time he met Keith’s eyes, he redoubled his laughter.

Keith slid his jaw to the side and breathed deeply, eyes closed. When he eventually opened them again, Shiro knew some unknown war treaty had been signed in that complex, capable mind.

And, oh boy, it had.

Casually, slowly, Keith reached behind him to where bacon was innocently sizzling under the grill.

‘Keith…’

He slid the tray out with ungloved hands, his expression unmoving.

‘You don’t have to do this.’

Saying nothing, Keith turned with the tray, and walked out the open patio door.

‘Keith!’ Shiro called after him. ‘Keith! Where are you taking that bacon?!’

The bin lid lifted with a creak, and a few moments later, clattered shut again.

Shiro glared down at Pete, who glanced up, sensing eyes on him. ‘This is all your fault, you know.’

‘Mrrr!’ said Pete, and turned back to his cereal.


	2. Reader | Listener

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is a reader. Keith is a listener.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get at me: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Shiro was a reader. He glutted himself on sports biographies, aeronautical histories, and wildlife manuals. He learnt to disassemble and rebuild a radio from a poster that hung on the garage door at his grandfather’s house. He knew how to home-smoke fish from a book he’d picked up by the roadside on his first trip to the Garrison. Basic English reading he’d learned from _Calvin and Hobbes_ or _Winnie the Pooh_ comics; the source of keen embarrassment when he muttered a weary, _Oh, Brother_ , to this day. He wasn’t unfond of novels and poetry. Munro gave him lonely Canadian parochialism. Heaney let him feel wet earth between his fingers, even in the spitless Arizonian desert. Kazuo Ishiguro broke his heart and made him scared to fall in love, despite knowing since a child he was born to do such a thing. **  
**

Keith was a listener.

He was the kind of person who listened with his whole body, head cocked like a clever spaniel at every change in the atmosphere, every buckle in mood. He learnt sports by failing and failing and failing again, listening to the song of his strong body until the failures were so far apart all anybody could see were successes. In flight, he was a swift, a bird from whose primed and thrumming body, the farmer’s hands had lifted: releasing him into the air in a burst of speed and confident joy. Radios? Disassembled and reassembled in a mess of wires (some of which were never rehomed) and a petulant, stuck-out tongue. ‘It’s playing!’ he’d crow, already indignant. And Shiro, disbelieving, would press his ear to the grill only to discover that, despite missing half its innards, it was indeed playing an old Joan Armatrading number. Fish: raw or grilled until black, however Keith’s stomach was feeling on the day. English? He seldom needed it with eyes like those, but when he did it was machine gun hot, or cool as shadow.

Now, in the heat spilling through the large bay windows, the listener lay atop the reader, long fingers curling and uncurling around the tassels of a cushion.

‘Shiro?’ Keith asked, voice sleepy and thick. He’d always been a kitten in the heat of the sun.

‘Mm?’ Shiro laid his book aside and looked down at the tangle of limbs and spilling hair collected against his chest.

‘Teach me something.’

Scratching the corner of his eyebrow with the back of his thumb, Shiro measured his current book against Keith’s preferences: _Dirty Northern B*st*rds!: Britain’s Football Chants_ by Tim Marshall. He grimaced and flipped it closed.

‘How about a brief history of Japan?’

Keith eyed Shiro suspiciously, but curled himself against him nonetheless. ‘Start with Takashi Shirogane and work backwards.’

Shiro leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Keith’s promptly wrinkling nose. ‘Blegh!’ he complained, as he always did, even as his too-cold fingers ran up the inside of Shiro’s shirt.

‘Oh,  _brother...'_ With a deep breath, he began.' There once was a long-suffering but ever-faithful boy called Takashi Shirogane.’


	3. If I Mayo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on this iconic work by Nonis, wherein Keith is a sandwich and Shiro is a lawyer: http://nonis.tumblr.com/post/172133546023/new-sheith-au
> 
> Originally posted here: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com/post/172144772176/nonis-new-sheith-au-the-man-stopped-under-the

The man stopped. Under the belting heat of the sun, vapoured shimmered around his broad shoulders and tightly buzzed hair like an aura. He turned, tilted his head with the smallest pout of his lips, and strode back towards Keith who, for his part, made a valiant effort not to vomit up his own oesophagus.

‘H-huh ugh,’ he said, eloquently, before shoving his flyers in front of the man like a religious offering.

Dark eyes glinting, the stranger bent forward at the waist and plucked a single flyer from Keith’s trembling fingers. ‘If I mayo.’ With a wink, he strolled off.

Keith stared after him, utterly dumbfounded. ‘If I…’ he muttered. ‘If I may…o… What kind of…’ His sweat-stung eyes darted back and forth, as his mind puzzled over the equation of such a beautiful man emitting such an ungodly sandwich pun. ‘If I mayo!?’ he squawked. ‘Hey!’ 

His attempt at giving chase was futile in the tight confines of the suit, and all he could managed was a frantic waddle that threatened to topple him. ‘Hey! You!’

A balled up flyer hit him square in the face. ‘See you around, pickle.’ And the stranger was off, swallowed up by the city crowds.

Keith fumed inside his costume; grilled-cheesed off and nursing an unwelcome stiffness in his boxers beneath layers of foam. He looked down at the paper; saw the digits peeping out between the folds and a name: Shiro. 

‘Oh, brother.’ There was only one thing for it. Sandwich suits couldn’t bend: that was just a fact of life. He triangulated the note’s position, closed his eyes, and trust-fell straight onto the pavement and the stranger–Shiro’s–number.

‘I gotta get a new job,’ he moaned, then began the long wait of a lonely sandwich waiting to be picked up. Again.


	4. Loose Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith has changed, but Shiro can't quite believe it's forever.
> 
> Based on the tumblr!fear that we'll see a time skip in S6.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get at me: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Keith was harder. Savage where before he was gentle. Cautious where he had always been quick. When he smiled it was despite himself. He never laughed. The scar was a kindness, a humanity, on an otherwise flat and utilitarian face. Two mechanical fingers on his left hand. A limp when he was tired. Twenty-eight was young by anyone’s standards, but not to Keith. He wore the struggle like a heavy cloak.

Broader at the shoulder, hair weighing around his still-sharp face, Keith was a blade forged beneath the hammer of a master blacksmith. There was no single fissure in his new composure: a new composure that was over eight years old, Shiro had to remind himself.

He shrank from beneath Shiro’s outstretched hand enough times now that Shiro understood the chapter of _them_ to be well and truly over. 

‘We should talk,’ Shiro had tried when the pair had been trapped together in the hangar, pitifully waiting for Black to open up for one of them. ‘I want to know…’ A glance at Keith’s face showed nothing but tired and troubled resignation. ‘I want to know what it was like for you while we were… asleep.’

Keith's back was ramrod straight. Gone was the cocked hip. Gone was the silhouette that Shiro could have recognised from lightyears away. He was as flat and cold as his blade. ‘It’s nothing for you to concern yourself with.’

‘It is if it’s you.’

Violet eyes, clear as cut amethyst, darted to him. _Somewhere_ within an ember burned. ‘I won’t exhume somebody you wilfully left behind, Shiro.’

Somehow, Shiro found the air to breathe. ‘Are you really so changed?’

The answer was slow and quiet enough to give Shiro–poor fool that he was–hope: ‘Yes.’


	5. Thrown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following the blade of marmora trials, Keith sees his teammates struggle with the revelation that he's galra.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Get at me: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

It wasn’t such a shock. Either that or the words hadn’t taken root in Keith’s bones yet.

Galra.

Before the trial, the word sat like a bitter pill on his tongue. Now it was just an answer to a thousand questions. Every odd childhood illness, a knocked tooth grown back fully in days, sounds in the night nobody else could hear; a betrayal by biology, but somehow so _right._

‘This changes things.’ Allura said, so full of doubt in so many things, but grand and sure when it came to the galra.

‘It changes nothing,’ answered Shiro, whose arm seemed the only solid thing in a world that swam in front of Keith’s eyes like pond water. He wasn’t going to last long. He couldn’t feel his fingers or toes, and his shoulder throbbed in time with his stuttering heart. Because, yes, _galra_  was no shock, but neither was Allura’s reaction, nor the stunned faces of his teammates. He was already a liability by virtue of his awkward soup of thoughts and clumsy tongue; his bony, baleful body and graceless apparel. Hunk wouldn’t meet his eye, Pidge offered a toothless smile, and Lance stared, his expression unreadable. It made Keith want to drive his fist into the window until his knuckles split.

‘The last galra who flew a lion destroyed Altea and half the universe.’

‘The last galra who flew a lion was Zarkon,’ said Shiro. His fingers flexed and opened, flexed and opened, against Keith’s side. ‘You’re hardly suggesting he’s not remarkable. Besides, what about Ulaz…’

Allura tutted. ‘Ulaz.’

Keith saw the jaws of the robeast, and the horrible twisting of a monster collapsing in on itself; the tiny ship within. He opened his mouth and vomited on the floor in front of him in a series of wet, loud splashes.

‘Hell,’ Shiro muttered. Keith stared at the mess, felt his chin crumple with upset.  He bent to paw away his shame, but Shiro tipped him upright again with a shocked grunt. A buzzing started up in Keith’s right ear. He burped behind clenched lips. 

‘I’m getting him to the med bay. Now.’

‘We’re not leaving this here.’

Shiro adjusted his stance, placing himself between Keith and Allura. Bile burned in Keith’s nostrils and throat. He was going to vomit again.

‘No, we’re not,’ Shiro bit. ‘You might want to consider some compassion in the meantime, princess.’

Allura was livid now. ‘Compassion is what got my father killed by Zarkon. His best friend. A galra.’ She threw a finger at the mess Keith left. ‘Coran, see that the bots clean up that mess.’

Shiro shuffled Keith towards the door, but not without a final word. ‘Princess, compassion is all I’m fighting for.’ He pulled Keith close. ‘Come on, Keith. Let’s get you cleaned up.’


	6. Hot Hot Heat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I give you: Shiro and Keith are crap at sexy times.
> 
> Inspired by ringlov's cute af art: http://ringlov.tumblr.com/post/172599980221/boys-boys-broom-closets-are-not-a-private-spot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hit me up! https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

There were several inalienable truths about Takashi Shirogane and Keith Kogane. Some were widely accepted and easily divined: prodigal pilots, straight-A students, quiet but possessing an inner confidence, unreasonably attractive (though one was less likely to hiss at you for staring).

Others were not. That is to say, when it came to matters of young love, neither had any idea what they were doing.

‘Put your hands on my–me,’ said Shiro.

Keith looked at him like he’d just been asked to swallow his own spleen. They had found a spot just off the running track where the bleachers met the fence. The entire campus was airless and sweltering in the late September sun. A few students darted past on the track, making both students flinch at the risk of being rumbled as hopeless horndogs.

‘ _Where?’_ Keith whispered.

‘How about the broom closet?’ Shiro suggested, eager and earnest as a spaniel waiting for its master to open the door latch for a walk.

Keith didn’t have the heart to tell Shiro he’d meant where specifically on his body, mostly because he'd die if there was actually some received wisdom about the step-by-step guide to feeling up a fellow student. _First the hand, then the face, then a light brush of the bicep. Perhaps some lips, but not before a nice big handful of–_

‘Let’s go,’ Shiro urged, pulling Keith away from the track and through a jagged split in the fence.

By the time they reached the broom closet, you could have fried an egg on either cadet. Shiro shunted the door open with one swift shove to the lock. A bouquet of smoke and bleach wafted out to greet them. Shiro stepped back to let Keith in, who obliged, but not before tripping over both feet, one after the other, then stepping on a brush head, sending the handle smack into Shiro’s face.

‘Oh, fuck!’ Keith cried.

‘Flapjacks!’

‘Fuck, I’m sorry!’

Shiro recovered with a few messy sniffs, blinking his eyes to clear them. A giggle started up in the back of his throat. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘But I have to pay you back for that.’

‘How'm I gonna–’ Shiro stopped him with hungry lips that clacked teeth and bought grunts from both boys. Within the dark broom closet, the temperature rose to around that of an exploding star. By the time they parted, Shiro’s shirt was half off, his arms lightly marked with trailing scratches.

He met Keith’s eyes and laughed; a single, choking pant.

‘Sorry,’ Keith mumbled, something more like a _suhr._  Reaching with gloved hands, head cocked and pupils blown, he pulled Shiro by the arm until their faces met again; this time, a bump of nose to nose. He pulled in a heady breath and moaned so loud the rumbling passed through them both.

‘What are you doing?’ Shiro asked, head swimming and fingers nursing the baby hairs beneath Keith’s ponytail.

‘Dunno,’ Keith pushed his mouth against Shiro’s again. He drew back and licked his lips. ‘Wanna smell you real ba–’

‘What,’ came a barking voice, accompanied by a shocking wash of light, ‘are you _doing?’_

It was Lieutenant Barker: track coach, smoker, and unbearable tight-ass.

‘Uh,’ said both boys, clinging to each other. Keith’s belt rattled where Shiro’s shaking hand was stopped dead in its removal.

‘Mr Kogane, do I understand it correctly that you want to smell Mr Shirogane?’

‘Uh...’

‘Why do you want to smell Mr Shirogane, Mr Kogane?’

‘He... uh... there was some...’

‘Vinegar!’ supplied Shiro. Keith looked at him with wide-eyes and cleared his throat. His Adam’s apple bobbed in a sweat-slick neck. It did nothing for Shiro’s unfortunate boner.

‘Vinegar, that I uh...’ Shiro laughed like a car engine failing. ‘I thought I’d spilled vinegar on my thingy...’

‘Your thingy?’ asked Barker.

Shiro nodded, so Keith nodded too.

Lieutenant Barker closed his eyes and drew both hands down over his face. ‘Boys, boys,’ he said. ‘Broom closets are _not_ a private spot. That’s what the roof is for. In private. Preferably at nighttime. Where no underpaid coaches are likely to find you. Understand?’

With mumbled _yes, sirs,_  Shiro and Keith escaped the broom closet with faces burning. They walked in silence until the next corner. Several students mock fainted against their lockers as a dishevelled Shiro passed. Keith drew closer to his side, staring at the gawkers like an obstinate dog with a purloined sock in its mouth.

When they finally reached a quieter corridor, they slowed and stopped.

‘So,’ said Shiro. He nudged Keith’s arm. ‘Rooftop?’

The resulting dash proved a final truth about the pair: no fire escape could hold them, nor security camera keep them down.


	7. I Do Declare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody at the Galaxy Garrison had caught Takashi Shirogane's eye. He just wasn't into the idea.
> 
> Then Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Lying like a damp sock across a low wooden bench, Matt nudged Shiro’s cheek with the toe of one boot. The older cadet cracked a single eye open, unamused, and closed it again with a grunt. The pair had found some shade in the bike shed, and were making use of an extended lunch break by being far, far away from stuffy training rooms and the stench of old rubber matts.

‘Come on, Shiro.’ In the unforgiving heat, Matt was sweat-drenched and especially whiney. ‘There must be someone you like. Even a little tingle in those bright white panties? A brief fart within that broad and highly-coveted chest?’

Shiro leaned his head back against the pale pink wall of the shed. A thick globe of sweat ran under his shirt collar. ‘Nope.’

‘Nobody?’

A sigh. ‘Nope. Nobody. Not even you, Matt.’

‘Pssshh.’

‘Hey.’ A chalky voice, garotte tight.

Both boys opened their eyes to see a slim silhouette, edges warped by the blazing sun beyond.

‘I need my bike.’ 

Matt sat up and blinked back at the student from under his raised arm. ‘Sure.’

The figure strode forward on legs that seemed to end somewhere in the exosphere. He leant forward, and wrestled with a key until his lock clunked open. With a few sharp tugs, he pulled a beat-up racer free.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered, flipping the bike on its back wheel so it faced the other way. He walked it off a few paces before jumping on and speeding away.

‘Man,’ Matt said. ‘He was a barrel of la–Oh my God!’

Shiro–calm, collected, and endlessly patient Shiro–was honest-to-goodness fanning himself with his notebook.

Matt folded his arms and chuckled. ‘My, my, Mr Shirogane. I _do_ declare.’


	8. Alchemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lying in bed one night, Keith feels Shiro's arm turn leaden as the Kerberos mission looms ahead of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://froldgapp.tumblr.com

Keith lies with his back pressed against Shiro’s chest, heart made glum by the dust floating in the moonlight and the creaking of the makeshift bed every time one of them moves. The walls are close, the ceiling low. A gecko scampers, stops, and glares from where it’s glued to an exposed pipe.

‘Tell me about Kyoto,’ Keith says, pulling Shiro’s arm around until it stretches across his clavicle. Shiro’s broad hand fixes on his shoulder, fingers warm and coarse and dry. A strong hand. Kind.

A breathy chuckle worries the baby hairs at Keith’s neck. ‘Again?’

Keith nods, presses his lips against Shiro’s wrist and rests his chin there. He is a sparrow in these moments, heart hammering in his chest. So different from the falcon-like strength that has him spinning and soaring in the skies above the garrison.

‘A single carriage train carries kids to school. It passes between single story houses, and after the first big heat of spring, branches knock against its windows and roof. The students hang out the windows and door, and shout messages to their friends. Nearby, is a woman - a friend of mom - she makes the best okonomiyaki. I’d cadge some off her whenever I could, but mom found out and made me do chores for her in return. It wasn’t at the garrison I learned to fold sheets so precisely…’

He pauses because of the small body trembling against him. A fat tear splashes onto his forearm and is suspended in a glistening globe by his thatch of hairs.

‘Keith.’ He kisses the spot where Keith’s black hair whorls in a cowslick, and whispers, ‘I’ll make that life for us, Keith. We’re making it now; right here.’

Keith nods again, sniffing back his upset. But he doesn’t speak, and hates himself for not believing Shiro. Kerberos looms, and Shiro’s arm - moments before warm and safe - feels as cold and heavy as iron.


	9. Vet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro visits the world's most unorthodox animal hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judge me here: https://froldgapp.tumblr.com
> 
> Prompt by Blackcatbone: I'm not sure if this counts as 'chill' but... AU where Keith is a very calm and understanding veterinarian, and Shiro is a very distressed cat-sitter who brings the cat he's looking after to Keith's practice in a panic. Bonus if the cat is Kova, and Haggar and Zarkon are the people Shiro's cat-sitting for.

_Hahahahahaha! * throws and runs away *_

'Sugar, sugar, sugar, sugar,' muttered a distraught Shiro as he reversed backwards through the doors of the small animal hospital, squirming cat held at arm's length. Shiro had been saying " _sugar"_ since the tender age of six, when his grandmother heard him say the riskier alternative and made him collect all the ginko berries on the street in front of her house as a punishment.  
  
'You have to help this cat,' he panted at a bored-looking assistant slumped in his chair behind the reception desk. Flat blue eyes canted up to Shiro, before floating back to a cracked phone screen. A deft finger flicked off the music which Shiro could only vaguely identify as "pop".

'Name?'  
  
'Kova.'  
  
'And the cat's?'  
  
Shiro pursed his lips and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the assistant was looking at him, dead-serious.  
  
'The cat's name is Kova. My name is Shiro, I–'  
  
The assistant held up one elegant hand. 'A-bap-bap-bap: Don't need your life-story, Ken.'  
  
'No:  _Shiro_.'  
  
A sigh. 'Ken... Like Barbie's boyfriend?' When Shiro merely blinked back, the man sighed with even more apathy, if such a thing was possible. 'Take a seat, Ken.' Shiro did as he was told and grimaced as the assistant roared into an intercom: 'Yo! Mullet! There's a dude and some cat... I don't know... Looked cranky.' He leaned back in his chair, measuring Shiro with narrowed eyes. 'No, the cat did.'  
  
Shiro engaged some well-practiced yogic breathing as he listened on, Kova meanwhile attempting to carve her way through the skin and muscle of Shiro's right thigh. Shorts. What was he thinking? To Kova, everything in the world was a scratching post other than her very expensive, custom-made scratching post. First amongst all those ersatz scratching posts, were Shiro’s thighs. Kova spun on his lap and began her efforts anew on his left leg.  
  
'Shiro and Kova! Room four!' shouted the assistant, pointing a finger down a long corridor behind him. Shiro stood, collecting a darkly rumbling Kova against his chest, and made his way into the room.  
  
He was greeted by a narrow back labouring over a stack of boxes, pitch black hair pulled back into the world's most ambitious ponytail. Grey skinny jeans poked out from beneath a crumpled white vet's smock, finished with dull red _adidas_ worn down at the heel to the point of near disintegration. Shiro shared a doubtful look with Kova, who had stilled in his arms.  
  
'Eh...' Shiro said, inching slightly into the room.

The person spun to full height, launching four small objects into the air. Objects which revealed themselves to be mice when they clung to the curtains, the calendar, the weighing scales, and Shiro's hair, with varying pitches of distressed squeaks.  
  
Kova's pupils bled to inky pools at the site of the thing attached to Shiro's forehead, and made a grab for it, almost taking Shiro's eyes with it, but she was plucked from him at the last second by the bothered looking vet. She looked as surprised as Shiro did.  
  
'Thanks,' Shiro said, retrieving the mouse himself. He held it out to the vet who shot Kova a warning look before placing the plump rodent carefully in his pocket. He adjusted his grandpa glasses with a small cough as the others scrambled up his legs and joined their companion. The smallest, wary eyes glinting, kept an eye on Shiro like a soldier with their head above the parapet.  
  
'Take a seat,' said the vet, voice like hot coals. Shiro moved towards the single chair. 'I was talking to the cat,' the man continued, just as Shiro was about to lower himself onto the thin leatherette cushion.  
  
'You guys should really work on your communication skills here,' groused Shiro, who deposited himself against a standalone sink instead.  
  
The vet cocked his head. 'Huh?'  
  
'Nevermind.'  
  
'Seat,' the vet ordered, and Kova – blessedly – did as she was told. She hopped out of the vet's arms and landed gracefully on top of the stainless steel bench, sitting primly with her tail wrapped around her feet.  
  
The vet approached her and stood with his hands on his hips. 'What seems to be the problem?' he asked.  
  
Shiro, having learned his lesson, did not answer.  
  
Deep, violet eyes drifted to him. 'What. Seems. To. Be. The. Prob. Lem?’ he asked, each syllable like a coin dropped into an arcade game.  
  
'Weren't you talking to the cat?'  
  
The vet pouted. 'I don't understand your question.'  
  
Shiro slid his jaw to one side then answered as patiently as he could. 'I'm not sure. She's really listless. And she's not eating. Hasn't eaten anything since I started watching her. She's not mine, you see. I'm just cat-sitting. She belongs to my bosses.'  
  
'You work for a startup or something?' Another curious mouse emerged from the vet's pocket.  
  
'What? No. What’s that got to do with–'  
  
'Look like the type.' The two mice seemed to nod. A third joined the inspection. 'It's the hat.'  
  
Shiro raised a hand to his dark green beanie. 'The hat?'  
  
'It's very startuppy.'  
  
Kova's small head bobbed from side to side as she followed the conversation. Without looking, the vet offered her his finger, which she began chewing on in earnest, eyes scrunching closed with satisfaction. Shiro flinched, having been on the wrong side of the feline's mouth more times than he cared to remember.  
  
'Should she be...'  
  
'What are you feeding her?'  
  
'I don't know... some vegan stuff. My bosses are vegans.'  
  
'Garbage.'  
  
'No, it's true. They own the huge bio store on–'  
  
The vet cleared his throat, removed his finger, and replaced it with the thumb of his other hand. Kova rejoined her efforts, twisting her head one way and the other to chow-down on the appendage. 'I mean vegan food for cats is garbage.' Thumb still in Kova's mouth, he reached behind him and tugged open a drawer. From it, he retrieved an oily silver fish. He tossed it in front of Kova who fell on it instantly, finished with the vet's miraculously in-tact thumb. To Shiro's utter horror, the vet then collected a fish for himself, dropping it into his throat whole and swallowing it with a loud gulp.  
  
Finished with the first helping, a renewed and suddenly kitten-like Kova mewed and pawed at the vet's deeply stained smock. He plucked two more fish free, giving one to her and offering the second to Shiro who refused with a noise like a boot becoming unstuck from mud.  
  
'Suit yourself,' said the vet, popping it into his own mouth. Oil spilled free and ran down the vet's chin and along a jawline you could cut diamonds with. He wiped it with his sleeve and extended the same hand to Shiro. 'Keith,' he said.  
  
'Kova,' said Shiro. A bead of oil was making its way down the vet – Keith’s – pale throat. 'Shiro! My name is Shiro. The cat is Kova and I'm Shiro and you're Keith and this is crackers.'  
  
Keith pulled the smallest of the mice from his pocket. 'No,' he said. 'This is Crackers.'


	10. Meet. Shoot. Score.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shiro is as good at introductions as he is at soccer.

_Consider this nonsense a follow-up to[this](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14171979/chapters/33070836)._

‘Shiro,’ Matt said around a mouthful of mini-pretzels. ‘What are you doing?’

Still dressed in his khaki uniform, Shiro nudged an empty water bottle with his left foot. It rolled in a wobbly arc and bumped modestly against his other boot. ‘Practicing,’ he answered simply, performing a small, decorative hop for good measure.

Matt lay his text book aside and fixed Shiro with a disbelieving look. ‘Practicing... _what?’_

A shrug. ‘Soccer.’

‘I’ve never seen you play, watch or otherwise engage with soccer in our entire time together at school.’ Matt nudged Shiro’s thigh with his bare foot, his socks and boots long since discarded under the heat of the evening sun. ‘You’re trying to impress him.’

Shiro danced sideways, scooping the empty bottle as he went. ‘Who?’

‘The bike kid.’

‘The bike kid? Sorry, don’t follow.’

‘The bike kid? From last week? The one wearing that English soccer team shirt? The one whose bike had  _“Ole, ole, ole, ole”_ written down the side in whiteout _?_ _’_

Shiro made a face and flipped the bottle up with the toe of his boot. It catapulted sideways and he gave chase, waddling after the thing as though it was a baby duckling in danger of running into traffic. Matt shook his head. 

‘Well, if you wanted to get his attention: mission accomplished. He’s looking this way.’ Rolling his eyes at the nuclear brightening of Shiro’s expression, Matt continued, ‘Don’t get your hopes up. Hard to tell if he’s interested, offended or farting.’

Shiro turned affronted eyes first on Matt and then the bottle.

‘Shiro...’

He set the bottle on its bottom like he was teeing up the perfect shot. He _was_  teeing up the perfect shot (or whatever the soccer equivalent was).

‘This is a terrible idea.’

Shiro took a few steps back, bouncing on his heels as part of a largely performative warm up.

 _‘Shiro,’_ Matt said, warning.

Shiro drew his foot back and kicked. He sliced the bottle, which would have been embarrassing enough but for the force behind it. Unfortunately, it was that very force that drove the bottle through the air and straight into the side of _Bike Kid’s_  head.

Without much preamble, the cadet tumbled backwards off the wall, long legs following like streamers.

Matt grimaced. ‘Fuck.’

‘Flapjacks!’

OoO

‘Mr Kogane was very curious when you said you’d come to see him today,’ said the nurse as he guided Matt and Shiro down the sick bay hall.

Matt rushed to his side and took his elbow, nodding earnestly. ‘Oh, you know these second years... always thinking third year friends are too busy. We’re like... “Hey! Kogane! What are friends for?! Your friends aren’t going to just–”’

‘Says he’s never heard of you...’

Matt grumbled, ‘Must be a concussion.’

The nurse was unconvinced. ‘Anyway,’ he continued. ‘He’s in there. Twelve stitches. Try not to kick the flowerpot at his head.’

Shiro pulled his lips back in a grim imitation of a smile, and tugged Matt away from the harried nurse with his free hand and into the room. Clasped in his other arm was a gift box stuffed with soccer paraphernalia.

The cadet.  _Bike Kid,_  Mr Kogane, was sitting up in bed, earphones in and book resting on his bent knees. His hair – long and full before – had been shorn almost to his skull; the raised stitches visible. He was shorter than he first appeared; his shoulders broad but trunk lean, wrists and fingers fine. His lips moved as he read quietly, his Adam’s apple bobbing with unspoken words. East and west of his elegant cheekbones, sat a pair of large, perfectly formed and enthusiastic ears. Beside Matt, Shiro made a noise. He received an elbow for it, which he bore in silence, largely because he’d vacated his mortal body.

‘Hey,’ said Matt.

Kogane jumped in place and tugged out his earphones. In seconds, his face was beet red. ‘Hey,’ he said, right hand flying to feel along the cropped stubble of his head.

‘Your ears,’ said Shiro.

Ever so slowly, Matt turned to his friend, face a mask of horror.

Shiro, swallowing thickly, continued. ‘Are very big.’

The silence in the room was that of one thousand vacuums, all boxed within each other, and ejected into space. Matt thought it best to intervene and save Shiro the opportunity to comment on any other body part belonging to Kogane. ‘He’s as good at introductions as he is at soccer’

Shiro, rather than speaking, offered the box.

‘What’s in there?’ asked Kogane.

‘Soccer stuff,’ said Shiro. ‘Balls and... stuff.’

Matt breathed from his feet upward. He muttered between clenched teeth, ‘Put it on the bed, Shiro.’ Shiro did as he was told, depositing the box on top of the cadet’s shins with a _thunk!_

Kogane winced. ‘Is he always like this?’ he asked, eyeing Shiro with something approaching sympathy.

Matt folded his arms. ‘No, but I’m beginning to see a pattern emerge.’

Keith nodded and tugged the box towards him, eyes still fixed on a dumbly smiling Shiro. ‘Thanks,’ he said, quietly. Then: ‘But... I don’t like soccer.’

Pursing his lips, Matt tried to remember that the world was spinning at one thousand miles per hour and that one day, the sun would explode. ‘You don’t like soccer.’

The cadet in the bed shrugged.

‘What’s your first name, Kogane?’

‘Keith,’ said Keith.

‘Keith,’ echoed Shiro.

‘Keith Kogane, do you have any pain killers? I feel a headache coming on.’


	11. Agency

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Lotor's requests grow, Shiro becomes more suspicious of the prince's interest in Keith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Request from @et-rex on tumblr.
> 
> Get at me here: froldgapp.tumblr.com

Once, what seemed like a thousand years ago, Shiro had suggested Keith volunteer at the animal shelter in Cod’s Reach; the small town near the garrison.   
  
It seemed a natural tonic to a pattern he noticed between Keith and his peers. He had often watched, smiling, as Keith huffed quietly at the struggles of his classmates; itching to intervene but staying tight-lipped in his perennial shyness. While Iverson tore stripes out of flapping-mouthed cadets, Keith’s lips would move silently, willing them to light upon the correct answer, succeed and prove the harsh instructor wrong. But when others pressed for advice or help, Keith would slink away, deflect. Vanish.  
  
Real or imagined, any failings Keith had in front of humans, were inverted in the natural world. One morning at dawn, Shiro had stood frozen at the entrance to the running track and watched as a bare-footed Keith held out his hand to a coyote to snuffle and lick. Keith offered the animal half of a sad looking sandwich, laughing as it was readily gobbled down. He’d then offered the other half, which the coyote accepted with a small yip.  
  
Seeing the coyote dip its head under Keith’s gentle fingers, the idea came to Shiro immediately. Clear as day, he could see Keith had quieter gifts than “ace pilot”. He was a listener. He was a teacher. The good in himself, he could give to the world, and in giving, make himself happy.  
  
It was only a few weeks after Keith started volunteering Shiro realised his error: Sloppy form on the mat and a plummeting appetite revealed that Keith absconded to the shelter for nightshifts, and regularly skipped meals to make the last bus into town after class. “They need me,” he’d say.   
  
His grades didn’t suffer, but he did.

OoO

Now, observing a quietly smiling Keith coax Lotor through basic aikido manoeuvers, Shiro saw history threaten to repeat itself. Of course, the prince admired Keith’s skills and enquired endlessly after his heritage, celebrating it with a bright-eyed gusto none of the others had ever witnessed (or done so themselves) before. But there were questions that went beyond the curious and favours growing daily by degrees. _You could_ hear _the lion? Perhaps you could show me what you mean you say you can feel quintessence? A race would be quite the challenge, coming from a pilot such as yourself. We could use my ships, since the lions are not available to us._  
  
Shiro would have to speak with Keith. Would have to guide him away from Lotor’s sincere reasonings and small requests. The prince only knew how to take. It was his one constant and it was dangerous.  
  
In trying to fix the universe, Keith would break himself into pieces.

OoO  
  
With Black’s mass looming above them, there wasn’t much distance available in the hangar, but Keith found some nonetheless. Shiro’s concerns, seeming so reasonable to himself, had taken Keith utterly by surprise. Now he pressed himself against the hangar wall, mere feet away from the door. His eyes kept drafting uncertainly to Black, over Shiro’s shoulder then to the door. He was an open book, and Lotor’s proximity had never felt more terrifying.  
  
‘But… you wanted me to speak to him… You _asked_  me to get close to him; that I could learn from him.’  
  
Shiro nodded. 'I did,’ he agreed. 'But piloting the _Sincline_ is a big step, and we don’t know his reasoning–’  
  
’ _I_ know his reasoning. I told you. _He_ told you,’ Keith insisted. 'Besides, I miss flying. I mean _really_ flying. Red…’ He didn’t finish. He never could these days when it came to Voltron’s right arm. 'I just…’ A weary huff and a glum, 'I want to fly.’  
  
Shiro moved away from Black, felt the thrum of quintessence grow cooler in his wake. 'This feels like a mistake, Keith. I don’t trust him. Not fully. Not yet.’  
  
Keith’s eyes implored. 'You trust me.’ He pushed his back off the wall. 'You trust me, don’t you?’  
  
'Of course,’ Shiro said, more than a little indignant, then offered a gentler, 'Of course I do.’  
  
'Shiro,’ Keith inched forward, palms up, supplicating. 'Every bad thing I did in my life I did on impulse.’  
  
'Keith–’  
  
'Can’t I– Don’t I get to–,’ Keith threw his hands down, frustrated. His eyes darted from point to point across the slick hangar floor, as though searching for some missing resolve; some lost eloquence. 'Agreeing to pilot Lotor’s ship might be a bad idea. But it might be great too. I just want a change from stuff _happening_ to me. I want to make a choice. Don’t I get to make bad decisions too?’  
  
Under those clear, violet eyes, what option did Shiro have? He couldn’t deny Keith what little control this universe offered him. 'Just… Let us know if we can support you. And…’  He closed his eyes and sighed deeply, emptying both lungs and trying to ground himself. 'Be careful’ He met Keith’s eyes. 'It’ll make me happy, Keith.’ It was a low card to play, but it worked.  
  
Keith smiled, relieved. 'I will,’ he said. 'You know I will.’


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally forgot I wrote this until someone on tumblr unearthed it today! Even to the extent it may already be on here, and if it is... sorry!
> 
> Should follow after my other fic We Live As We Dream.

Hunk sat down in front of the camera and curved blank screen, his opening few lines already prepared. He ran his hands up and down his thighs nervously, then leaned sideways to make sure the door was shut properly.

‘Hey, so uh…’ He swallowed. ‘We um…’ Another thick gulp past the stone in his throat. ‘We, um, we lost someone today.’

No. That wasn’t right. They didn’t _lose_  him. That was much too kind. They dropped him. They _pushed_  him. And now he was dead, body frozen in a pod light years from home.

In a quick burst of irritation, Hunk leaned forward and punched the bright red “On” button, eyes closed and head bowed with shame.

‘Hey, we really fucked up. Really. Really bad–’

_‘I’m Keith, the pilot of the Black Lion.’_

Hunk’s head whipped up. ‘What…?’

_‘What should I say?’_

That voice. The economy of words and gentle rasping where the vowels dipped. Keith's voice.

‘Guys!’ Hunk tumbled out of the seat, slapping the walls of the booth hard with both hands. He rushed to the door and threw it open. ‘Guys! Guys!’

Face a mask of shock, he turned back towards the screen and Keith’s closed, cautious face there. Was he always so small? So young?

‘See,’ Keith was saying, face scrunched up and voice tinny through the speakers. ‘That’s why I’m bad at this.’

OoO

The video zipped to black and the paladins were left silent and distraught. Shiro was a statue in the the chair. When Lance gingerly placed his hand on Shiro’s shoulder, he shrugged it off abruptly. Nobody spoke for a very long time.

‘I had no idea,’ Pidge said.

It was the wrong thing to say.

‘ _How_  did you have no idea?’ Shiro yelled, climbing to his feet. He surged out of the room, gesturing violently that they should follow. They trailed out after him like lost ducklings and arranged themselves along the wall. Shiro looked at them one by one, eyes the sight on a firing squad rifle.

‘You spent every waking hour with him. You saw how _hard_  he tried. Did you think, when you called him a loner over breakfast, or over the comms, or during down-time, or when you _constantly_  chipped away at his hair, his talent, his _self_ , that your message wouldn’t start getting through? You, the best and brightest planet Earth had to offer?’ He rubbed a hand down his face, eyes furious and shining. His voice trembled and broke. ‘How can you know him and fight side by side with him and… r-risk your lives with him time after time, and not know that he listened to what you said and that he _believed_  it?’

Lance risked a glance at Shiro, and turned his eyes away again quickly, scared of what he saw there. Hunk for his part, stood and took it all with a strength made of knowing he was wrong.

‘Shiro,’ Pidge again, shamed and dangerously so. Youthful belligerence was beginning to colour her face. ‘He was the leader. What did you want us to do? Pull him aside and drown him in group hugs?’

An indignant roar:  _‘Yes!’_  

‘We- It’s not like we forced him out the door.’ She whispered to the ground. ‘He chose to leave.’

‘No.’ Shiro shook his head. ‘No, Pidge. You’re all _smart._ You’re all _talented_. “Best of the best”. The “most gifted of your generation”. I can’t accept that. I’ll tell you what I think happened: I think it was easier for you to let him go than try to understand him. And,’ he stopped, drawing a deep breath that shuddered in the back of his throat. But, he couldn’t finish; just pressed his lips together and shrugged helplessly. A tear slipped free and splashed on the ground between them.

‘He wasn’t the only one you left, Shiro.’ Lance stared mournfully at his shoes.

Shiro nodded, fist pressed against his mouth. He spoke past it. ‘I know. But he’s the one that paid for it, and I’m going to make it right.’


	13. Good Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En route to Earth, Krolia and Shiro have some time to catch up.

Black’s dashboard cast a purple glow that made it hard to tell which suit was which in the complicated Altean card game known. With neither Shiro nor Krolia being experts, it made for slow and frustrating going. Krolia groaned, deep in her throat, as she she placed down the wrong card, forfeiting yet another game to the young paladin. Shiro offered an apologetic smile as he laid down his own cards.

‘Good hand, I guess.’ He waggled his remaining fingers. Uchu raised her head from where it rested on her paws, thinking there may be snacks. Seeing none, she lowered it again and closed her eyes with a faint huff.

Krolia grimaced, the corners of her mouth pulling down dramatically. ‘Keith told me about your jokes,’ she said. “Jokes” was bracketed with glaring air quotes.

Shiro belly laughed at that. ‘Is that so?’ He peered over Krolia’s shoulder to the back of the pilot’s chair, hoping to lure Keith into a backwards glance, but Keith was otherwise occupied: currently dangling sideways, utterly unconscious, and kept from falling by the mercy of his seat belt alone. ‘Ah,’ Shiro muttered, slipping from his own seat with some effort; he was still in the habit of reaching with his absent right arm. Krolia’s head shot round, but she stayed put as Shiro crept past her. He pushed his fingers into the whorl of hair around Keith’s crown and stared down at the sleeping paladin. Keith’s lips were parted, showing the tip of a modest snaggletooth. Behind his closed lids, his eyes danced back and forth, but his dark lashes were long and still. His hands were still wrapped around the joysticks, though losing traction with each deep breath. ‘Idiot,’ Shiro said, gently and with a smile.

Krolia folded her arms and gestured at her son over the crook with two fingers. ‘He never says when he’s tired. I caught him sleeping once with an axe lodged in a tree trunk when he was chopping wood. “ _Mom,_  I’m _fine.”_ I mean: his hands were still around the quiznacking handle and him standing. Uchu was lying there with a giant beetle in her mouth, also out for the count. She’s as bad as he is.’

Uchu’s neon tail flicked, unimpressed.

Shiro laughed, punctuated with a tut, and smoothed down Keith’s obstinate cows lick that seemed at times more antennae than hair. ‘At the garrison, he’d doze off between reps at the gym during exam season.’ Shiro snorted. ‘Sometimes between push ups. I’d nudge him and he’d shoot up like he hadn’t just passed out.’ Hearing no response, Shiro glanced up to see Krolia staring at him. He cleared his throat, peeling his fingers away from Keith’s scalp.

‘Shiro,’ Krolia began, ‘how about I keep Black company for a while; you make sure Keith gets some proper sleep down below. I’ll help you down with him.’

Shiro balked. ‘Yeah… yeah? Really? Uh, yeah I can…’

Krolia stood and made her way to him in one long stride. Forefinger a dagger, she prodded him in his chest. ‘Proper sleep, understood?’

The blood left Shiro’s entire body, just to take up residence in his face. He nodded. ‘Yes, ma’am.’


End file.
